Emerald Eyes
by Jawhara
Summary: After Reichenbach Fall. Mycroft reminisces about his little brother. A particular moment comes to mind, when Sherlock as a child was bullied and he had promised himself to never let him be harmed. Warning: Drug abuse in later chapters!
1. Chapter 1

**Emerald Eyes**

**Summary**: After Reichenbach Fall. Mycroft reminisces about his little brother. A particular moment comes into his mind, when Sherlock as a child was bullied and he had promised himself to never let him be harmed. Oneshot.

**Disclaimer**: So sad it's not mine. So very sad.

_Mycroft was there every time Sherlock solved a case. Sometimes he was at the crime scene; sometimes he had someone in the Yard inform him and when there was no other option he would read about it in Johns Blog. But he preferred to be there in person. _

_Mycroft was perhaps the only person who could observe his little brother without being noticed by him and he took pride in the fact that he always knew what Sherlock was up to. Maybe that was the reason why he felt so… empty at the moment. He hadn't seen it coming. His little brother always managed to get out of troubles in some way, sometimes Mycroft had helped him out (without Sherlock knowing of course) but everything had always been fixable. No longer though… now he was gone and Mycroft didn't know how he should tell Mummy. Thank god she didn't read the newspaper._

_He took a sip of brandy and let his copy of the sun fall to the floor. He closed his eyes and thought back to a time when nothing had been more important for him than to look out for his little brother._

No one disturbed Mycroft when he was studying, if one tried one would just be ignored. There was a single exception to the rule currently banging his little fists against his door. "My!"

Mycroft sighted, got up and opened the door for his little brother. The seven year old flew into his arms immediately. Mycroft hesitantly patted his brother on his back and kissed his unruly black curls. "What happened?"

The little boy pressed his head against Mycroft's shoulder, sobs wrecking his tiny body. Clearly he was still too upset to answer the question.

Mycroft picked him up and carried him over to his bed where he set down, the little boy immediately cuddled close to him. Mycroft gently rubbed his back and smiled at him encouraging. "What happened?"

Sherlock looked up at his brother, his big green eyes full of trust. But there was something else in them, something Mycroft couldn't quite name yet. "They destroyed my project. And then… and then…" He couldn't stop crying yet.

It always amazed Mycroft that even though he got bored with people quite quickly he always had enough patience for his little brother. No matter how long it took Sherlock to tell him something he would never try to rush him. Usually it was a very good indication of how upset his brother was.

"I told my teacher and she just said, she said, she said it was my fault because I provoked them, but I didn't, I swear I didn't. I think she doesn't like me because I asked her if she was married to Mr. Hemming because she stayed with him for a few nights this week." The little boy had mumbled into Mycroft's shoulder.

Mycroft continued to rub his brothers back, relieved that he had stopped sobbing. He smiled slightly, it was just like Sherlock to annoy his teacher with his observations. "They probably didn't know how important your project was." He tried to calm Sherlock a little bit more.

Sherlock shook his head repeatedly. "They know. It's not the first time, you know? But then father… father…" Now the hiccup began.

Mycroft stiffened. Their father was bad at dealing with the younger Holmes boy and it seemed to grow worse every day. "What did he say?"

"He said that if I spent less time annoying people and more time being like… like… like you than others would care more for me." It was said almost in a whisper but Mycroft understood it perfectly. He got up abruptly and Sherlock shied away from him.

"Don't be upset My, don't. I don't blame you, please don't be angry at me!" Tears filled his big, usually so bright green eyes.

Mycroft realized his mistake and quickly pulled his little brother close. "You are a wonderful little boy. Don't listen to father. Do you understand?"

Sherlock nodded. "I love you My."

It took Mycroft nearly another hour to get the names of the students who broke his experiment. Three days later those students were expelled from school because no one dares mess with his little brother. However he had no idea how to deal with their father.

_Mycroft smiled a sad smile remembering that specific day. He took his phone and dialed mummy._

_A/N.: If you've made it this far I'm pretty sure that you at least found it entertaining or interesting. In that case please leave a review, I'd appreciate it._


	2. Chapter 2

**Feeling empty**

**Disclaimer: **Yes, yes I know. Still not mine.

_John no longer responded to his messages. Mycroft couldn't blame him; obviously John held him responsible for Sherlock's death._

_Mycroft lit his cigarette. He inhaled the smoke, deeply in thought. He had visited Bakerstreet but Mrs. Hudson told him that John hadn't come home since the burial._

_He could find John of course but lately he seemed to lack motivation for anything. Mycroft smiled grimly. He had felt like that once before._

It was quiet in the Holmes household. Mycroft turned away from his books and looked at the ten year old, currently sleeping in his bed. Nothing more than his black curls were visible above the sheet. He hated waking his little brother when he looked so much at peace but he didn't have a choice.

"Wake up Sherlock," he gently touched his brother's shoulder. The small boy groaned and looked at him, his green eyes misty with sleep. "My?"

Mycroft managed to smile at him. Sherlock had slept in his room since their mother left to take care of her very ill sister. He'd been plagued by nightmares. "Come on, it's time for breakfast."

Sherlock stiffened. Breakfast with their father was a stressful affair; the small boy was usually criticized for everything he'd done, because in their father's opinion everything he did was done wrong. Mycroft knew that their father would never understand his younger son. He probably wouldn't understand Mycroft as well, but the older Holmes boy was so much better at diplomacy and people.

"Mrs. Turner called yesterday."

Mycroft almost missed the whispered words. That explained why Sherlock had been hiding in Mycroft's room since said afternoon. "What did you do?"

The boy sat up and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Nothing." He smiled brightly at his older brother but Mycroft didn't buy it.

"Sherlock Holmes, what did you do? And don't lie to me, because I will find out and I will take away your chemistry set."

Sherlock bit his lips. He knew, from experience, that Mycroft meant business. "Well I did nothing. No really!" he added the last part when Mycroft made his way over to his brothers experiments. "I didn't do the homework she assigned and it might not have been the first time. But really My, why must I do those dull exercises? They are so boring."

Mycroft hid a smile and put his arm around Sherlock's shoulder. "You have to do your homework. It is not optional, do you understand?"

Sherlock's fingertips tapped the bedframe impatiently; a sure sign that Mycroft had lost his attention.

He shooed the small boy out of his bed to go and get dressed.

Mycroft took some time to get ready for breakfast, their father had left on a business trip this morning and he had no reason to be there on time. However Sherlock wasn't there when he entered the dining room. He turned to the maid: „Have you seen Sherlock?"

She shook her head.

Mycroft didn't bother checking Sherlock's room. Whatever caused the small boys nightmares it was reason enough for Sherlock to spent as little time as possible in there.

It was only a three minute walk to the beginning of the forest. Sherlock thought that his tree house was a safe place that only he knew about, but he was wrong. Mycroft had found the place a long time ago but hadn't had a reason to disturb him there yet. "Sherlock?"

He didn't have to wait long. "My? How did you find me?"

Mycroft smiled. "I'm your brother, Idiot."

Sherlock's head appeared between the green leaves. His eyes were red and his face blotchy. He must have cried.

Mycroft watched Sherlock descending from the tree. "Why did you run off? I was worried."

"He took it away. Everything. The microscope, my collection, and my books they're all gone."

Mycroft helplessly patted his brothers back. "Who took your stuff?"

Sherlock looked up and wiped tears out of his eyes with his sleeve. "Father. He said, he said that I would only get it back when I get grades as good as yours."

This time Mycroft was able to identify the emotion behind the sadness, his brother was very angry. "When did you see father?"

"He was in my room. He put all my stuff in boxes. There is nothing left!" Sherlock picked a stone up from the ground and threw it at a nearby tree; a few birds flew away.

Mycroft knelt down and grabbed his brother at the shoulders. He waited patiently until Sherlock had calmed down a little. "Sherlock, listen to me. Listen to me! You can achieve higher grades easily, I know you can."

It was as if all energy left the child within seconds. "I know." Sherlock sat down on the ground; he slung his arms around his legs. "It's just... I don't want to. It is boring. I already know what they are going to teach me, I don't want to do my stupid homework, it's boring. I want to work on my experiments, just like you do."

Mycroft sighted and shortly pondered the pros (comforting Sherlock) and cons (stains) of sitting down. His concern for Sherlock won. "Can't you pretend to work hard? Think of being better at school as another one of your experiments. Test how much effort it would take?"

The child shook his head stubbornly. "No! I will not pretend!" He put his head against Mycroft's shoulder. "I can't do it My."

Mycroft knew that Sherlock was correct. He would never do something just to please someone else. Never. "You still have your chemistry set." The older Holmes boy felt slightly sick when he remembered nearly taking it away from his younger brother.

Sherlock looked at him with tear-filled eyes and a small smile formed at his lips. "I still have you."

_And now Mycroft lost him. Mycroft had forgotten about his own schoolwork and schemes when Sherlock muttered those four words. He couldn't bring himself to do anything except spending time with his younger brother. Now there was no younger brother left to spend time with and Mycroft felt empty._

_His mobile beeped._

_Mycroft picked it up, hoping against hope that John had answered._

_"Not dead. SH"_

A/N.: Originally a Oneshot I extended it to a Twoshot because I love you guys :-) Now love me right back and review.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**__ Very important! Please read!_

_So… you guys convinced me. I am going to write a few more chapters (I have no idea how many). From now on the flashbacks might not be chronological. Sherlock is thirteen in this chapter but he might be younger or older in the next one, depending on the scene Mycroft is remembering. And there will be some up to date action, you know those few sentences before and after the flashback. That said... Enjoy!_

_**EDIT:**__ I rewrote that chapter. I really didn't like it and I hope you like it better now. Have fun!_

**Chapter 3**

_Sherlock's message had been a shock for Mycroft; at least for the first few seconds before he began to put the pieces together. The laundry truck, the possibility of a Sherlock look alike, John not seeing his brother connecting with the ground. _

_Mycroft held the phone in his hand, unsure if he should reply. He was extremely annoyed, angry even at his little brother for pretending to be dead. On the other hand, however, he wanted to do nothing more than to run after him and find him. _

_He felt conflicted, a feeling Sherlock had often inflicted on him. _

"Where is your brother?"

Mycroft looked up from his dinner. "Two weeks," he thought while chewing his meat. It had been two weeks since their father had called his youngest son by his name. "I don't know." Mycroft hadn't seen his brother today.

"Can't he be on time for once? I don't know what's wrong with that child!" Father Holmes sat his glass down with too much force and it broke; bits of broken glass cut into his hand. Mycroft refrained from sniggering.

Sherlock Holmes choose that exact moment to enter the room. Mycroft winced. His talent at reading people allowed him to know exactly what was going to happen.

"Where have you been?" Mr. Holmes waved the maid away; she'd been cleaning the cut on his hand.

Sherlock shrugged; perfectly portraying the sullen teenager. "School" He sat down opposite of Mycroft, playing with his food.

"School let out a few hours ago, you are late!" Mr. Holmes never yelled but he came quite close this time.

"Don't you wonder what happened to him?" Sherlock had a split lip, a black eye and some dried blood on the forehead. Mycroft didn't say it aloud. It wouldn't help his little brother at all. Their father would somehow manage to turn it around and use it against Sherlock.

"Very accurate observation!" Sherlock still played with his food and Mycroft made a mental note to get him to eat more. The teenager was way too thin for his age.

Mr. Holmes glared at his younger son. "Go to your room if you can't behave!"

Sherlock looked up and stared as his father. He very slowly picked a pea from his plate, put it on his fork and flicked it at his father. It hit his father on the forehead.

Mycroft closed his eyes, pinched his nose and exhaled slowly.

Mr. Holmes stood up, made his way over to his son, yanked him up and dragged him over to the door. Sherlock didn't put up any resistance. "I don't want to see you again until you remember how to behave!" He threw the teenager out of the room and closed the door forcefully.

Mycroft wanted to run after his brother but he impatiently waited until dinner was over.

Sherlock wasn't in his room and Mycroft wasn't really surprised about it. He found his little brother in his own room. There was a fresh cut under Sherlock's left eye; it was very small but obviously new. "What happened to your eye?"

The teenager continued to look at the floor and shrugged but his hand rose and touched the cut gingerly.

"Sherlock, what happened to you?"

Sherlock looked up and smiled slightly. Usually he was always there when Mycroft returned home from university; it was the first time he'd been late. "I might have gotten into a fight."

"Yes, no kidding." Mycroft sat down on his bed, next to his brother. Sherlock wouldn't look as bad as he did if it was only a one on one. "Now spill."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow and smiled a lopsided smile. "I might have said something about Timmy Redding's project at the science fair today. Honestly, it was nothing more than childsplay, but he obviously didn't like me pointing it out to his parents and the teachers. Then I told them that Redding copied the project. And what apparently made it worse was that I explained those facts when the jury announced that they wanted to award first price to Redding."

Mycroft shook his head and smiled. He put his arm around Sherlock's shoulder and held him close. "You are an idiot Sherlock. There is nothing to gain for you from pulling stunts like that."

"I know. But Redding is stupid and too much stupid makes me do things that might be perceived as less intelligent by those who can't understand me. You know that, don't you My?"

Mycroft noticed his brothers' stiff posture. He could see that there were injuries under the layers of clothing; most likely a few bruises. He wanted to comment on it but Sherlock's use of his old childhood nickname prevented him from doing so. "I still want to know what happened to you."

"Redding is on the football team. He and two of his friends surprised me in the alley behind the school and… well. I think you know."

Mycroft did know. He also knew the subtle signs that Sherlock was not going to say anything more on this topic. There had been a time when Sherlock would tell Mycroft everything that bothered him, but that was long gone. Sherlock seemed more distant lately. For the moment Mycroft felt as if he had gotten a bit of their previously close relationship back and he didn't want to do anything that could terminate it. So he decided to change the topic. "Why did you flick a pea at father?"

Sherlock looked at the floor and Mycroft had to smile. His brother looked like a young child at moments like that. He smiled and his emerald eyes glinted mischievously. "It really pushes his buttons doesn't it?"

"Sometimes I don't know if I want to hug you or smack you." Mycroft affectionately ruffled his brothers black locks.

This time Sherlock laughed out loud. "He, My? Can we play Cluedo?"

_Mycroft decided that it was time to see his little brother. Knowing that he wasn't dead was incentive enough for him to find Sherlock. He had no doubt that it wouldn't be too difficult. Sherlock texting h__i__m was a sign that he wanted to be found. The older Holmes got up to leave, not before taking something out of his cupboard._

**A/N.:** I hope you liked it. Now, just because it would be fair, if you like it send me a review that I can like


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**.: There you go guys, I hope you like it!

**Chapter Four**

The sweet sound of a violin came from the two-story building. Mycroft recognized the tone as Beethoven's concerto for the violin. It had always been his brother's favorite. Mycroft entered the building and continued up the stairs. The old wood creaked but Sherlock didn't stop; he was obviously expecting someone.

_Mycroft hadn't been home for nearly a month. He had called Sherlock twice and had chatted with him for a few minutes but it hadn't been nearly the same. He was looking forward to seeing his little brother again; especially since he had missed his fifteenth birthday. _

"_Sherlock?" Mycroft entered the mansion and was surprised that no one came to greet him. He looked around for a bit and found his brother in his room. "Hey."_

_Sherlock looked at him for a second and stared back at his book. He pretended to read but Mycroft could tell that his eyes weren't focused on the words. _

_Mycroft sat down and regarded his brother closely. The fifteen year old was too thin; he had dark rings under his eyes and looked haunted. The mirth that had been an always present companion in those green eyes was nearly completely gone and Mycroft wondered why. "Did you get my present?"_

"_Present?" Even Sherlock's voice sounded tired. _

"_Yes. I sent it to you; it should have been here a few days ago. I thought you might enjoy getting your present on your birthday rather than later. Did you have a nice celebration?" _

_Sherlock sat up and threw his book on the ground. Mycroft leant forward and read the title: "Identifying chemical residue by their flame coloration". _

"_I didn't celebrate. Apparently birthdays are only an occasion to be happy about if one is you."_

_Mycroft was taken aback. "Me? What do you mean?" He remembered their father's love of comparing the two brothers. "Did father say something?"_

"_No." Now there was hate in Sherlock's eyes. Surprisingly enough it was only in his eyes the rest of him showed no emotion at all, he didn't even raise his voice. "He said nothing. Not a word. I haven't spoken to him in three days."_

"_Is he at home?" Mycroft knew that there was no chance to mend the gap between father and son. It had been there too long without anyone trying to close it. Now he had to be very careful or it would find its way between the two brothers as well. _

_Sherlock shook his head, picked up his book and continued reading. _

_Mycroft decided that not coming home for the last month had been a serious mistake. Sherlock was drifting away and Mycroft didn't like it. The elder Holmes left the room and headed to his father's study. He had a fair idea about where Sherlock's present might have ended up. _

_Sherlock threw his book at the door after Mycroft closed it. Honestly, he didn't care about the book; he'd already memorized the content after the first time he read it. He swung his long legs out of his bed and got up. He really didn't know how he was supposed to feel about his brother. He loved Mycroft dearly, but there was a small voice in the back of his head that told him that he wouldn't have any problems with his father if Mycroft wasn't there. That voice had grown louder and louder during the last year; it only ever stopped complaining when Mycroft came home from uni because then Sherlock was reminded of how wonderful it was to have a big brother. _

_The teenager produced a pack of cigarettes out of his pockets and lightened one. He inhaled the smoke deeply; it helped him to think. He looked outside the window and his eyes fell onto the old tree house that had been his hideaway for so many years. His father only found it a few weeks ago; you didn't see it if you didn't know where to look. He threatened Sherlock to cut the tree it was built upon if he didn't behave and the teenager knew that he wouldn't live up to his father's standard sooner or later. It was better to detach himself from his childhood memory. _

_Sherlock spun around and raised an eyebrow at Mycroft. _

"_Go ahead." Mycroft handed him a package. "What is it?" The older Holmes decided not to comment on the smoking. He knew his brother had started a few weeks ago, it was easy to tell. Their father had most likely forbidden Sherlock to smoke and Mycroft really didn't want to say anything that would put him on their father's side. _

_It was a tradition between the Holmes boys. Sherlock loved to guess his present before ripping off the wrapping paper. _

_Sherlock's incredibly long fingers carefully touched the package. His eyes lit up and Mycroft felt himself relax slightly. It was as if the old Sherlock, the child Sherlock made a brief appearance. "It's hand wrapped," muttered Sherlock turning the parcel upside down. "There is some sort of a casket inside. It's heavy." He smelled the package. "Something wooden, I guess." He shook the package very carefully and a smile appeared on his lips. "Is it a violin?"_

_Mycroft nodded. He happily watched as Sherlock tore the paper off and opened the casket with childlike enthusiasm. Mycroft handed Sherlock a few music sheets for beginners and an empty music notebook. "It is for your compositions. I hardly think that learning how to play it will give you any trouble."_

_Sherlock carefully put the violin on his bed. He looked at Mycroft, clearly trying to decide something. Suddenly a wide grin spread on his lips and he threw himself at his older brother, wrapping his arms tightly around him. "Thank you My. Thank you so much!" _

_Mycroft patted his brothers back and felt incredibly happy. When he went to bed that evening it was to the sounds of a badly played violin. However, to Mycroft, it was the sweetest sound imaginable. _

"I have been expecting you."

"I know." Mycroft looked at his brother. He didn't look worse than before he had died.

Sherlock turned around and his eyes fell on the package under Mycroft's arm.

"Happy birthday, brother." Mycroft handed the package over and Sherlock couldn't prevent the grin slipping on his face when he discovered a board game that he knew well. Mycroft had given him Cluedo.

**A/N**.: Here you go guys. Hey, do you know what surprises me? I can see how many people visit this story. Last chapter there were 128 visitors and two reviews. I mean, I'm incredibly honored if those two guys visited 128 times, but that's not how the statistic words. Anyway… what I mean is that it really means a lot to me if you review, even if you only send two words, or one word, or a smiley face… you get my drift

I wish all of us a successful week! (I have two tests, two laboratory days, 1 presentation and an exercise to survive and I hope it is nicer for all of you!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**A/N**: So, there's another one. I had an awful time at college this week and writing took my mind off some stuff. I hope you'll enjoy reading it!

Your reviews were amazing. I felt so elated after receiving all your comments. Thank you so much and keep up the good work

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><p>Mycroft sat in his favorite chair at the Diogenes Club; it was the best place to be alone with your thoughts. Seeing Sherlock had been… calming. Naturally, meeting his brother had also angered him. Sherlock could push his buttons like no one.<p>

Still, Mycroft had managed to coax a promise out of his brother. Sherlock had promised him that he would look after himself and that he would contact Mycroft as soon as he'd managed to destroy Moriarty's web. However Mycroft had bad experience with Sherlock's promises.

_Mycroft had sworn to himself that he would be home more often after Sherlock's sixteenth birthday; he tried, he really did, but it wasn't easy. School and his beginning career took a lot of his time and he hadn't been at home a lot, especially for the last few months. He would never admit it to anyone; least of all himself, but he felt nervous about meeting his younger brother again. _

_There was no one greeting him at the door. That was odd; usually Sherlock or at least their father was present. The house was empty. _

_Mycroft hadn't been home for more than a few minutes when he heard a loud crash. He found his younger brother in the dining room, throwing porcelain plates at the wall. Sherlock didn't notice his brother entering; he was too focused on throwing a vase. _

"_What the hell are you doing?"_

_Sherlock spun around and released the vase; Mycroft had to duck in order to avoid it. It shattered into thousands of pieces. Sherlock had lost even more weight, his fingers were trembling and his beautiful green eyes were clouded. "Mycroft." It came out as a stutter. "What are you doing here?"_

"_I could ask you the same thing." Mycroft put his umbrella and his coat on a chair._

"_I didn't… I… Mycroft…" Sherlock looked lost. _

_Mycroft's fears were immediately confirmed. He'd already feared that smoking wouldn't be enough for Sherlock; should he ever feel himself under too much pressure. "What did you take?"_

"_Cocaine? But really, I didn't want to… but father, he said, he… I had no choice, My!" Sherlock's hands rose up and he hid his face in them. Now it weren't only his fingers trembling. _

_Mycroft felt as if his heart would break. "Sherlock, why?" He saw the flash of anger in Sherlock's eyes._

"_You!" Sherlock backed away and glared at him. He pointed a finger at Mycroft, shaking furiously. "You're too perfect. I hate that. I hate you!" His fingers were moving over the dinner table like an independent organism until he found a plate. He smashed it to the ground. _

_Mycroft tensed. "What?"_

"_Every day. I hear him every day. Why can't you be like Mycroft? Mycroft is the only son of mine that will ever amount to anything! Mycroft is successful at uni, look at your grades! Mycroft made me happy, but look at you! You are driving your mother out of the house; Mycroft would never have done that. Mycroft, Mycroft, Mycroft!" Sherlock emphasized the last three words by throwing various pieces of dinnerware. _

_Mycroft had always known that it would come to that. Usually being right made him happy, but there was no satisfaction this time, just grieve. "Sherlock…" He stopped himself as Sherlock grabbed a glass and aimed it at Mycroft. "Sherlock, I love you! You know that, don't you?" He thought he saw his little brothers eyes clear for a second but it could have been wishful thinking._

"_I know." Sherlock sank down with his back to the wall until he sat down on the ground. The glass fell out of his suddenly limp hand. "Mycroft, I know." Tears were falling from his emerald eyes and he was shaking. "I love you My. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He started sobbing. _

_Mycroft knew about the mood swings contributed to cocaine deprivation. He was afraid of pushing Sherlock away again. "Sherlock, you shouldn't…" It was the wrong thing to say._

"_Don't tell me what to do! You are never around; why do you think you can interfere with my life?" Sherlock crawled back until he ended up in the corner. "You are not interested in me at all!" He punched the wall with his fist and Mycroft flinched visibly. _

_He didn't mind being yelled at; it usually just showed the inferiority of others. Sherlock's words hurt him, because they were at least partly true. "I want to spend more time with you Sherlock. You know that I have to work and study."_

"_You have shown your preference!" Sherlock's voice grew cold. "If you enjoy your studies more than spending time with me, so be it. I don't care about you either." He turned his head away. _

_Mycroft inhaled slowly. Talking to a drug addict going through withdrawal was fruitless. He overpowered Sherlock with sheer force and managed to drag him to his own room. Sherlock fought back but he was in no state to pose a threat. Mycroft pushed his little brother into the room and locked him inside._

_The older Holmes spent the next hours sitting outside the room and listening to his little brothers yells. He could hear Sherlock groan in pain every time he hit something and it hurt Mycroft as well. He could hear Sherlock cry and it made him ache. He wanted to do nothing more than to enter the room and cradle his little brother in a tight embrace but Sherlock would most likely fight him in his condition. _

_It took another hour until Sherlock quieted down. Mycroft listened intently but he couldn't hear a thing. He opened the door very carefully and found Sherlock lying on the floor. Mycroft knelt next to his brother and felt his pulse, making sure that he was just sleeping and hadn't passed out. He then scooped him up in his arms and put him onto the bed. _

_Sherlock looked younger than his eighteen years. Mycroft smiled sadly and put his hand on Sherlock's forehead. His brother was running a fever. "You're such an idiot Sherlock." It was said affectionately. _

_Sherlock chose that moment to open his eyes. They were no longer clouded. "My? You came home?" He seemed genuinely surprised and happy. "I knew you would visit. Father said that you didn't care about me but I knew, I always knew!" He smiled at Mycroft._

_Mycroft sat down on the bed and Sherlock curled up next to him. He grabbed Mycroft's hand and held tight; his clasp didn't ease up even after he fell asleep. _

_Mycroft spent the whole night next to his brother. He stroked his hair and calmed him down whenever he woke up disoriented and confused. During all that time Sherlock never let go of Mycrofts hand. _

_On the next day Sherlock promised him that he wouldn't ever take drugs again and that he would enter rehab. It was the first promise to Mycroft that he broke. _

"Stay safe Sherlock" Mycroft had typed the message half an hour again. Now he hit sent.

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><p><strong>AN2**: So… If you liked it please leave me a review. And to all my reviewers that aren't signed in: I would like to thank you for your reviews, and it would be nice to get in touch with you somehow. We have to think about that.

To all others: I try to answer your reviews as quickly as possible, and I hope that I didn't forget anyone. Thank you very much for taking the time to review!

Anyway, I have two more One-Shots that you might enjoy. If you haven't seen them yet, check them out under:

**/s/7882963/1/Impatient_Patient** Sherlock is in the hospital after being shot. Lestrade and John look after him and he's not your typical model patient (Handcuffs are involved)

**/s/7866788/1/Eyes_in_the_Shadow** People grieve in different ways. Some talk, some cry, some tap the ground with their umbrella. However they have the location in common: the grave of Sherlock Holmes.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**.: So… here you go. Please don't forget to leave a comment, it makes me happy And please read the A/N at the end of the chapter, it is very important.

**Chapter 6**

Today's headline read: "Fake genius might have been real after all!" It went on in a slightly smaller script with: "New evidence arose that suggests Sherlock Holmes might have been the victim of a conspiracy against him."

Mycroft folded the newspaper and put it on the coffee table. It was obviously Sherlock's work, slowly working his way through Moriarty's web, exposing his scheme. Since he was alone in his office Mycroft allowed a small grin to appear on his lips. Sherlock was like a bacterial infection, if you got him on your tail it was extremely difficult to shake him off again.

Mycroft's phone rang. He was disappointed for a short second when he realized that it wasn't Sherlock; rather a number he immediately associated with the Charitable Heart Hospital.

"Mr. Holmes? We have a young man here in the ICU, he's listened you as his emergency contact!"

Mycroft felt his heart skipping a beat. He listened absently to the voice telling him an address and rattling off a long list of medical termini. He interrupted the voice the second his mind rebounded. "What exactly happened?"

There was a short pause. "We are not entirely sure. He has been shot three times and was in emergency operation for a little more than four hours. His condition is critical; it might become stable if he makes it through tonight."

Mycroft put the phone down and found himself on his way to the hospital within minutes.

_Mycroft never liked the white, sterile hospital walls. He'd been in and out of the hospital for the last year since Sherlock's twentieth birthday. Sherlock's drug problem had increased immensely for the last two years. _

_The older Holmes opened the door to Sherlock's room. The young man looked like an empty shell of his former self. He was connected to a dozen beeping machines and an infusion run into his veins. His eyes were closed and his chest rose slightly._

_Mycroft's eyes widened slightly when he saw the handcuffs that kept Sherlock connected to the bed. He sat down next to his brother and sighted. It had been two months since Sherlock's last case of substance abuse and he'd really hoped that it had gotten better. "What did you do this time Sherlock?"_

"_Why are you here?" Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at Mycroft. "I haven't seen you for half a year."_

"_Sherlock, I worry about you." Mycroft had been out of country for some very secret government business and hadn't been able to visit his little brother. He'd still send some of his minions to keep an eye on Sherlock and inform him of everything that was going on. _

"_No you don't." Sherlock tried to turn away but the handcuffs made it quite difficult. "Why did you come?"_

"_What did you take this time?" _

"_I didn't take anything." Sherlock sounded very tired. _

"_The handcuffs?"_

"_Oh, that's a very funny story." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It was a simple case of wrong place at the wrong time."_

_Mycroft raised his eyebrow in a perfect imitation of their father. "Really? It couldn't have been someone arresting you for possession?"_

"_If your mind is already made up, why do you ask?"_

_Mycroft felt more and more frustrated with his little brother. It was as if Sherlock was taking a second run at puberty. "Sherlock, you've been taking drugs for the last two years, you are back in the hospital and you've been arrested for possession. What am I supposed to believe?"_

"_My word?" Sherlock laughed bitterly and launched into a coughing fit. "You sound more and more like father, you know?" _

_Mycroft didn't mind the insinuated insult. What he minded was that there was no emotion in Sherlock's voice, no empathy, no anger, nothing. _

_They spent the next few minutes in total silence; the only sound was the soft "clank" of the handcuffs every time Sherlock moved slightly. "How have you been for the last months?"_

_Sherlock huffed. "According to you I've been taking drugs, of course."_

"_Good Lord Sherlock, stop acting like a child. Don't you see that I care for you?"_

"_No. No I don't. You've clearly shown that I am not important to you. I don't know why you are here. I sure as hell didn't ask for you to come. Just leave me alone!" _

_Mycroft clenched his fist and exhaled slowly. His response was cut short when the door opened and a policeman came in. He marched straight to Sherlock and opened the handcuffs. _

"_Everything is taken care of Sir!" He nodded at Mycroft and left them again. _

_Sherlock rubbed his sore wrists for a minute and rolled onto his side. _

_Mycroft rose and left; he closed the door with a little bit more force than absolutely necessary. If Sherlock wouldn't talk he wouldn't force it out of him. Mycroft felt as if he'd severed the ties between him and his brother when he left the hospital. _

_What Mycroft didn't see were the few tears Sherlock shed when he knew that he wasn't observed._

This time it was different. Sherlock was in the ICU and there were a lot more machines. Nurses were running around, working on keeping the patients alive. Doctors were doing their best to keep everyone as stable as possible. Usually visitors weren't allowed into the ICU but Mycroft wasn't an ordinary visitor.

Sherlock was in an artificial coma. Mycroft sat in a chair next to him, looking at his lifeless form. Sherlock looked so young; Mycroft was confused for a second because he looked exactly like he had fifteen years ago.

Mycroft's mobile phone rang. He looked at it, the ID read Anthea. He considered answering for a second before he turned it off. Work had been one of the major factors that ruined the relationship between the two brothers and he was not going to let it come between them tonight.

"Wise decision." John Watson sat down opposite of Mycroft. He was wearing a doctor's coat, mainly as a disguise so no one would start complaining about too many visitors in the ICU.

**A/N.:** So what do you think?

**IMPORTANT**: I need your help with a decision: I could write about one more chapter and finish the story. _ Then everything would stay chronologically. Or I'd put some more flashbacks inside with an even younger Sherlock, but then the time-line would no longer be correct. What would you favor? Please let me know. _


	7. Chapter 7

A/N.: Go on enjoy!

**Chapter 7**

Sherlock woke to the soft steady beeping of a machine right next to his head. The first thing he saw was John, slumped in a chair next to him. He looked positively exhausted, his facial expression set in a mixture between sorrow and annoyance. Sherlock knew that expression, John usually had it around him.

_Twenty two year old Sherlock Holmes was back in the hospital. Whispered warnings had travelled through the building, passed down from doctor to nurse, from nurse to security guard; the young Holmes was not an easy patient. Sherlock insulted everyone who dared enter his room within minutes if he was lucid. The nurses avoided his room since the incident with the thrown thermometer._

_The young man wouldn't admit it but he felt lonely. Mycroft hadn't appeared at his bedside as he had in the past. He hadn't even tried to reach him. The worst thing however was that Sherlock couldn't blame his brother. The small voice in the one corner of his mind that was untouched by his drug habit continued to tell him that he, Sherlock, had pushed Mycroft away. The voice was one of the reasons Sherlock wouldn't stop using drugs; they made it go away. _

_The door to his room opened and Sherlock felt the familiar itch to throw something; he really didn't want another stranger around him. Especially since thinking about Mycroft always left him feeling vulnerable. _

"_Good evening!" A young intern entered the room and smiled at his patient. _

_Sherlock observed him, saw the bags under the eyes, the tousled hair, the bad composure, the tiny scratch on his face and the photo of a gorgeous young woman in his pocket. He assumed she was gorgeous, he could only see the top left corner of the picture. "Haven't slept much since your girlfriend left you?" _

_Miraculously the intern didn't seem offended. "They told me you'd do that." He fished a medicine box from his pocket and put it on Sherlock's nightstand. "Take one of those, every four hours." _

"_She left you for your best friend. Can't feel too nice." Sherlock carefully observed the intern who'd nearly been through the door. Strangely enough he felt an urge to make him angry; mainly because it seemed difficult. All the other doctors and nurses had eagerly left his room after a single sentence. _

_The intern stared back and it unnerved Sherlock that he still seemed genuinely friendly. "Okay." He closed the door and sat down. "How?"_

_No one had asked that for a long time. Mycroft had always asked. He'd been the only one who was interested in Sherlock's abilities. The young man shivered and pushed the memory of his brother far, far away. "That picture, it is apparent that you value it and that she is important to you. That wouldn't be the case if you broke up with her. It is not difficult to deduce your lack of sleeping, everyone could do that. She slapped you; the cut on your cheek has been inflicted by a ring on her finger. Index finger to be precise, you were neither engaged nor married. You seem to be a friendly person, and if she left you there would be no need for her to slap you, at least if you didn't do anything. However you might have said something in spite, because you were hurt. Now, I figure she might have hit you if you confronted her with something she isn't happy about. Cheating on you with your best friend might just do that. It's a defense mechanism, really, we all do it. I don't see why, but apparently people grow more defensive if they know that what they did was wrong." The voice was back again asking maliciously why Sherlock automatically pushed every thought about his brother away. Sherlock ignored the voice. _

_The intern nodded slowly. "How would you know it was my best friend?"_

_Sherlock gestured to the phone that was clearly visibly in the doctors coat pocket. "You called a certain Paul sixteen times last night and he never picked up. Of course you could have called any friend of yours to whine, as people enjoy doing, but you started calling at 3pm. You're too considerate to wake up a friend."_

_The intern eyed Sherlock with mild interest. "Wow." _

_Sherlock felt himself blush and hated it. "It is not that impressive." _

"_Oh it is." The intern was grinning. "Not the deduction. No, I am an open person and it is easy to read me. But I haven't heard someone talk that quickly. Honestly, how do you keep yourself from swallowing your tongue?"_

_Sherlock felt oddly pleased at having as much of a normal conversation as it was possible for him. The intern's beeper, well, beeped and he waved at Sherlock before exiting the room._

"What are you thinking about?"

Sherlock slowly turned around and raised his eyebrows: "What are you doing here? Has the world caught a break and you don't have to save it?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sat down. "How do you think the nation survived before me? "

The two brothers looked at each other.

"How's the diet?"

Mycroft registered the neutral tone. "Fine."

Neither man realized that John had woken up. The doctor felt the tension between the two brothers and left the room immediately; not even the encounters between Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes had made him that uncomfortable. No one seemed to notice him leaving.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Did you manage to destroy Moriarty's web?"

Sherlock nodded. He tried to sit up but a coughing fit disrupted his efforts.

Mycroft watched his little brother. He looked exhausted, pale and was nothing more than skin and bones. "How did you get shot?"

Sherlock's cheeks colored slightly. "I might have walked into an ambush."

"You are an idiot, Sherlock!"

"Yes and you are so much more intelligent, Mr. I-have-to-dramatically-kidnapp-John-Watson-when-I-want-to-know-something-about-my-brother!" Sherlock grinned and Mycroft remembered the times when friendly banter was a common occurrence for them.

"Why did you come? You hate hospitals." Sherlock sank back into his pillows.

Mycroft knew what his brother talked about. How he had never sat foot into a hospital room again after his fight with Sherlock, Barts morgue being the only exception. "I was told you may die."

"So? People die every day."

John stood outside the door and shamelessly listened in. He felt like banging his head against the door, apparently communicating was either extremely subtle between two Holmes or it was simply impossible.

"Sherlock, try to behave like a grown up for once!"

Sherlock resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Mycroft. Instead he went with the mature action of crossing his arms and huffing.

"You never told me why you stopped taking drugs." Mycroft sounded genuinely interested.

"A young intern convinced me that there were things worth living for," Sherlock turned to where John was supposed to be and frowned. "Where is he?"

"John reminds you of said intern?"

"Yes. Now, where is he? What have you done?" Sherlock was in the process of pulling his infusion hoses out; Mycroft had to stop him.

"Stop doing that Sherlock! I'm sure John is fine, I don't know where he went."

Sherlock eyed Mycroft skeptically. "The day John moved in was the last day I took anything."

Mycroft nodded shortly and got up. "Are you going to move back to Bakerstreet now?"

"I think so."

"I will visit you for tea then." Mycroft picked his umbrella up and made his way to the door. Halfway there he turned around, walked back and squeezed Sherlock's shoulder.

John might have missed that gesture had he not being peering through the keyhole. He smiled. Maybe there was hope left for the two brothers.

* * *

><p><strong>AN.:** So guys… **Bad news first?** I decided that this is the final chapter. I understand that you want a few more chapters about the boys, and I might even write them, but if so then in a separate story. I mean, one's supposed to finish when it is still good, right?

Thank you so much for staying with me during the story! It was my very first Sherlock Fanfiction and you have no idea how much your reviews helped, motivated and inspired me! Thank you all!


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